Chronicles of the Unseen Eye
by Fizzy 13
Summary: Urgh... didn't know how to describe the genre... Just follow our strange friend, the Unseen Eye, as it explores the deeper recesses of the Tamers' lives (or deaths) in its search for at least some good in this world that's so full of evil and despair. Rea


AN: This idea hit me when I was brainstorming on what kind of narrative I should use on something I planned to write down but scrapped later on, the novelization of one of my strangest fantasies: Kari catching Magnadramon smoking pot in her room (don't ask) and giving her a scolding she'd never forget. (no, it's not a lemon idea if that's what you think). I was thinking more on the lines of how was I going to make a first person narrative without using one of the characters… so it hit me. Why not create a character that could see everything that was transpiring and yet remain uninfluenced by the other characters in the scene (or if he was, only to the extent of indirectness)? And thus was born the unseen eye… urgh… not much of a name, but it'll have to suffice. It's not a digimon, definitely not human, and I don't know what to call it (unseen eye, I suppose), although it is of digital origin.

Chronicles of the Unseen Eye 

A Slightly Abnormal Tamers Fic

By Fizzy 13

The Yeast and the Meat

And so I wander aimlessly throughout the bounds of infinity, knowing not where to go, knowing not why, either. It struck me as odd for a sentience such as myself to have no purpose whatsoever, and decided perhaps that whatever gods were responsible for my being had merely forgotten to give me a sign of as to why… why I had been conceptualized in the first place. A light touches me, igniting my synapses, alerting me of its existence. As though it were a guide from the gods I pursue it, although it goes nowhere, drawn to it as though it holds my destiny.

            Even as I traverse from the dark and into the luminescence, I perceive even more things than I have ever seen, none of which I seem to comprehend, except maybe the tall, stately and uniformly colored beings, all wandering frantically within a cold, steel space. White was their general hue, with an assortment of colors on the creatures' peaks, with the exception of one, who appeared to be of darker shade – no, _was_ of a darker shade – with the addition of strange equipment covering its optic devices, concealing them from me.

            "What do you mean it's untraceable!?" the creature bellows at what I assume to be its minions, "How damned hard can it be to track down and intercept a _single_ inbound wild digimon!?"

            "That's the thing, chief. It's _not_ a digimon." this certain being had a somewhat more, shall we say, comforting tone of voice, perhaps the result of my observing its smooth, crimson appendage cascade from the top of its head down to its back. Its eyes were also covered by some strange gear, although bulkier and more sophisticated in design than the 'leader', as I have dubbed it.

            "Then what the hell is it!?" leader barks out once again. For some reason, I feel pity for 'red' and its companions, maltreated by this… whatever it was that I had no label for. I turn my attention to the vast glass barrier that seemed to surround all these beings. It was lined with a tapestry of deep blue, with the occasional red, the gods knew whatever they represented. Another part of this wall that interested me were the strange red symbols "WARNING: DIGITAL INFILTRATION DETECTED" that flashed repeatedly onto the screen. I hardly understood what they meant and didn't bother to.

            "It's some kind of anomaly in the network… could be the result of too much online traffic in the Omicron Sector. Something like the product of the compression of excess data that's being pumped into a node with extremely insufficient bandwidth, a screwed-up fragmentation of vocabularies if you will. Whatever it is, even if it _has_ realized by now, I doubt it to be as dangerous as a digimon… on any kind of danger for the matter." These concepts that red seemingly stated in an automaton-like fashion puzzled me, as to the fact that I knew not what they meant.

            "If you're telling me it's harmless, then I might as well call it a night and go home." Leader glanced an electronic device wrapped around one of its appendages, "The Brakk Show is on at eight… then Temptation Island at nine…" Content that leader had calmed down somewhat, I decided to leave wherever 'here' was. Although I was careless enough to the point that I accidentally crashed into some sort of electronically-charged pillar and lost myself in the painful sensations my synapses were feeding me. Yet beyond this, I could sense the 'whites' stir up and panic for some reason.

            Screams rattled this retorts shook that, it seemed as though the chaos was everywhere. "What's going on!?" leader shouted out again… and to think I was starting to like its… homey personality.

            "Something's tapped into our mainframe system…" red reported yet again. Perhaps the two were entwined in a symbiotic relationship? Could leader possibly lack the requirements to survive without red's responses to its bellowing? "It's downloading… something – let me check." My synapses, besides being filled with what registered as pain, were filled with something else... something… enlightening… "It's downloading the central dictionary, chief… activating seeker chevrons to intercept." It had dawned on me then that for some reason, I actually understood what red was saying, down to the last letter. Fear also struck me then, when I realized that red was talking about _me_.

            I had to find the nearest exit link… the entire mainframe network was scanned for one… several were already locked down. These people (note that our protagonist already has the proper terminology for just about everything) were making sure I wasn't getting away. Already, as I continued my search, I could sense the seeker chevron programs nearing. That exit link had to be around here somewhere. My synapse network skipped a beat as I, in utter joy, darted into the first open exit I could find just as the chevrons whizzed by. Close call was followed by immediate contact as I was practically catapulted out of the network and spiraled into the gods knew where I was headed.

            As my surroundings slowed down to a halt, I found myself suspended in the air, just above what appeared to be a harbor of some sort, the seeming natural darkness pierced only by some streetlights placed ever so carelessly on the boardwalk. Beneath one of the halos of the said streetlights was a somewhat peculiar sight to be seen. A boy, fourteen, I reckon, was confronting a pair of shadowy figures in trench coats. He was dressed in a hooded dull blue shirt, khaki pants, rubber shoes, and for an odd sense of fashion, a pair of yellow goggles. "Look, I swear I have the money! Please give the yeast back! My family needs it to run our bakery!"

            "No way, kid…" said one of the two shadowy people… for some reason, their overly concealing outfits caused me to laugh. Although, due to the fact that what I considered as a laugh was in their sense, a synaptic hiccup, they saw nor heard nothing. "Show us da moolah first, then wes gives yous da yeast…" funny accent, somewhat similar to a mobster. Pathetic, really, in terms of grammar.

            "Hey, Kip?" the second piped, "Why'd we take his bakery's yeast in the first place? I mean, it's not like that's all the yeast in the world or anything—" the man had a point, although this wasn't completely expressed since the first cut him off. I suppose he either never learned his manners, or his mother was raised just as badly.

            "Shut up, Clem! Don't be a wise guy around mes, or yous is gonna be in deeper shit than dis fuckin' kid ovah here…" The first, Kip as I recall he was called, bluntly thrust his thumb in goggles' general direction. He certainly lacked those manners. "Listen, kid… hand ovah da moolah, den I hand ovah da yeast, got it?"

            Goggles could only nod as he tossed a small pouch, only to be caught by Clem as Kip receded into the shadows and came back out a moment later dragging a large sack containing what was supposedly quite a few kilos' worth of yeast. "Okay, kid… here ya go…" With a few grunts and more drag, the trench-coated mobster released the sack in the middle of the streetlamp's glow.

            "Th-thank you…" goggles grasped the sack by its corners and began the long arduous journey to wherever he lived. Seeing this kind of person in this kind of predicament made me want to upset my stomach if only I had one. This was a great example of how pathetic humans were, how low they could go in order to gain something as worthless as material funds.

            My attention shifted from goggles to Clem as the latter let out a groan of anger, "HEY! This isn't cash! It's just plain paper!" It had dawned on me, then, that goggles was holding up a rather weak smile. Perhaps he was happy for getting that yeast back, or perhaps because he knew he was finished. Kip grunted nonchalantly and drew a .50 Eagle and unloaded all seven rounds in the magazine on goggles' back, leaving him lying on the harbor, devoid of any life, that sarcastic smile still plastered to his face. My synapses fired up in disgust as I focused my energies on ejecting myself from the immediate area, revolted by how humans treated each other. At least leader had focus. These two didn't even show any hints of proper upbringing. There had to be some good in this horrid world. Could this be the purpose the gods had endowed me with? If not, at least I have something to make worth my while. Ending Data Log for Operational Day One.

END LOG

AN: Hmm… pretty dark theme, now that I look at it. I originally intended for this to be funny, then again, I prefer something dark like this… dunno why, maybe it's just my personality. Oh, well, to Takato, "Requiescats in pace." Don't bother flaming me because I'm not in the mood for them. Instead, calmly provide your opinion in your kind review. Thank you.


End file.
